As part of my life long pursuit to osmotically absorb as much OCD as possible from my lovely but clinically insane wife, I recently underwent a weekend hajj to the suburbs. Namely, The Container Store, located at Bridgeport Village. If you’ve never been, Bridgeport Village is an outdoor mall in Tigard/Sherwood that essentially exists as a vacuous, reductive, pre-fab microcosm of everything for which the Terrorists™ hate us for, replete with an Apple Store with a brushed metal facade which oozes Brand® smegma (penetrating your every orifice), a Talbot’s emporium of tweed and sueded satin for the alcoholic Botoxed soccer mom set, and a Sweet Factory candy island featuring gummi colas priced per pound at a greater clip than hangar steak from my local natural food mart.

But I digress.

My spice and dried herb situation was getting quite hairy, and I reached deep into the bowels of my own forthrightness and decided, damnit, I was finally going to do something about it.

I present you the fruits of my labor.

I must say that cooking is now a much more organized affair, and I’m much more apt to not wing it as I go along. I can now assemble my dry mise en place with such aplomb that my exhalted sense of self-satisfication has led me to other obsessive-compulsive dallies such as forever reorganizing the meat and produce drawers of my fridge and constantly pruning my Mac desktop using a myriad of ambidextrous keyboard shortcuts.